where we, are not marked enemy
where we are not quieted
where we are not alone
or desperate.
And I hope when they dig us up
pull us up from under the pretty flowers
The doctors, the workers, the ones who remain all say
our bodies were ready, melded with gold
pieced back together, formed into a history of change, magnificent things
and I hope they are reminded who
our Movement was intentional each mark on the skin
Each moment of shame or gratitude, was us reviving what it means
to survive, what it means to pluck the thorns from the flesh
Ask for help, allow the self to break the cycle.
We cut we cut we cut we cut we cut away.
I imagine a world, let it be bold, bright, and full
of embrace, shivering in delight, into the unknown
toward a fearful and brave glow, leading us through
I mark it here.
--Mateo L., Adult